Conclave
by aurea-sidera
Summary: Lexa kom Trikru before, during, and after Nightblood training. One shot involving Lexa, Luna, Gustus, and Costia.


Lexa kom Trikru, four.

Lexa sits in front of a pot. She stirs it, waiting. Her mother said that they could make it the way that Lexa likes, with too much spice. It's her birthday, her fourth summer.

Lexa glances at her bare shoulder, a still-painful tattoo covering it. Shoulder tattoos are for heritage in Trikru, things that your family, parents have done. She has a fresh one for her red blooded brother, who was taken by the mountain, and an old one for her father, a warrior.

"Lexa?" her sister asks. "I brought the spices. Mom says that I should do it instead."

Lexa knows why. Her sister is a red-blood, unlike her. Lexa's dark blood sets her apart, even if it is being kept secret from the Fleimkeepas. For now. Natblida combat training is the best, but Lexa's father wants to teach her first. Before they find you and take you off. You must survive, little one. You must be the Nightblood commander.

Yu laik a Natblida heda.

Lexa knows what she must do. She has sat in front of her parents for hours, listening to the tales of commanders previous. Even without the flame, she can almost recite the lineage. But she does need the flame. From the ashes, she will rise.

She has a friend from her village. Lincoln, his name is. His cousin is almost fifteen years older than them, Indra. He smiles at her when she entrusts him the secret of her blood, and wishes her good luck.

She remembers a Trikru rhyme in Gonasleng.

Sangedakru south,

Azgeda North,

War, war, we fight.

Boudalan east,

Flokru west,

The flame shows the light.

Skip two, three.

Commander of trees.

Natblida will bring us pride.

All of Trikru knows Trigedasleng, and most know Gonasleng. She doesn't, not yet. But she will.

The commander is a warrior.

Heda laik gona.

Natblida will bring us pride.

Lexa gon Natblidas, eight.

Lexa of the Nightbloods.

Lexa doesn't know what she's gotten herself into.

The current heda, Anan, raises an eyebrow. She lunges at him, gasps as he knocks the weapon away. Twirls, retaliates. Defends. It's a deadly dance that she's dancing, she knows. Eventually she will make a mistake.

But she is a warrior now, she can fight. She's too young, much too young, but she can fight.

She isn't the best of her class, not yet. But she does have reason to believe that the commander's spirit will choose her. She is strong, Lexa is.

Anan disarms her, points the knife that she didn't see at her throat, his sword at their side, scratching into her hand. She doesn't wince.

He offers a smile. "Nou foto, Leksa. Yu laik seintaim konfu ba yu don capa." Not bad, Lexa. You are too distracted, but you have talent.

Lexa nods. She takes this feedback to heart, and she lasts longer the next time that they go. She tallies those who last even longer than she does. Luna. Baron. Stiga. Luna is a demon, but she either fights or she doesn't. Lexa likes her, likes how Nightblood training has never become a true part of Luna, how she can care less about the flame. Baron is obvious with his motions, when he's going to strike, when he's not. He gives away his plans before he executes them, but he's quick and strong. Much like the rest of his clan, which is still at war with Trikru. Damn Azgeda. Stiga, on the other hand, is a coward. He runs from the fight every time, placing third only if they can find him. It is a useful thing for the Conclave, but not so much for being heda. The commander's spirit will not choose Stiga.

But she has to make sure that it will choose her.

So, at eight, Lexa trains more, pushes harder, and fights longer than the best Trikru warrior that she knew.

Natblida will bring us pride.

Lexa gon Sandeka

Lexa of the Conclave, fourteen.

If Lexa were to be asked whether she regretted coming to Polis to be trained, she who refuse immediately. If Lexa were to be asked whether she wishes that she had been a red blood, her answer would be very different.

Eleven Natblida sit in a circle, joining hands. Anan sits among them, his eyes darting to each face. The commander will be removed within a day, the ambassadors have voted so. Lexa was there as they did, sitting beside the throne with the others. "Heda noumore!" they had shouted, and Lexa had swallowed. Anan has trained them, taught them, adored them like some brother that they wished that they had had. They loved him, but the eldest of the Natblidas was sixteen now, and it was high time for a new commander.

Ten Nightbloods remain. Twenty-two had started. Some of the others had died in the second program, others had survived until the first round of the Conclave. Lexa scratches at her wrist, at the newest tattoo of the holy symbol. She places her hand back in Uta's, who watches her warily. The last round of the Conclave is tomorrow. Tonight, they join hands and sing and sleep in the same room. Tomorrow, they kill each other.

"Three pillars of heda," Anan intones, and they chant as they should. "Wisdom, compassion, strength."

They continue speaking about what must become of the heda, but Lexa is watching Luna. Her wild hair is somewhat tamed, and her eyes are dark. Her brother is dead, and she regrets that she was the one to kill him.

Lexa's eyes wander to Titus, who watches Anan. The fleimkeepa, he who trains the commander, he who knows them better than anyone. Lexa wonders if he will ever feel the same for the next generation of Natblidas. She hopes so. To avoid any one clan being able to boast that they killed the commander, Titus slices the sword himself. Trikru and Broadleaf are now in a dangerous fight for territory. Lexa thinks of her sister, who she hasn't seen in a decade. She could die in this fight. Lexa could die in tomorrow's.

It is on this day that Lexa begins to plan her Coalition.

Lexa gon Sandeka, fourteen

Lexa hides beneath a covered porch. The arena is too wide, and the fight itself could go on for days if needed.

Her sword is unsheathed and she holds a knife in her other hand. She's tense, checking behind her and to her sides. This is not how she will die, she hopes.

She senses movement and lunges. Uta. She blocks his first strike, then delivers one of her own. He's dead in less than a minute, but she's worse for wear. A cut above her eye drips blood, blocking her sight.

"Yu gonplei ste odon," she tells him quietly, and places one of his own hands above his chest on his stab wound and collects his insignia. "I'm sorry."

There is more movement behind her and she turns, weapons outstretched. Luna. Lexa's eyes widen. She had hoped that she wouldn't have to face Luna until a later time, but here they are. Lexa nods at her.

"I'm not here to fight you," Luna says in Trigedasleng.

Lexa raises an eyebrow as they circle each other. "That's what we are all here for," she replies in the same tongue.

Luna paused, sheathed her sword. Lexa didn't follow. "I was, too. But not anymore,"

"What do you want me to do?" Lexa asks, confused. If Luna is here, then she wants something.

Luna threw her own sigil onto the floor. Lexa has two already, her own and Uta's. Her eyebrows lift.

"I want you to take it," Luna says.

Lexa's lips part. "Do...do you want me to kill you?"

Luna laughs, but she backs up. "No, I don't. I don't want to die, Leksa kom Trikru. But I don't want to kill, either."

"You want to run," Lexa says, even as her stomach tightens with apprehension. It's never been done before. Luna would be shamed.

"You've caught on."

"Where will you go?"

Luna shifts. "Back to Flokru. We don't fight there. No warriors, no Gonasleng."

Lexa inhales. Flokru sounds wonderful, but it's not her calling. If it is Luna's, then…

"Go. Be happy."

Luna inclines her head. "Thank you. And remember me when you are heda."

Lexa smiles, and Luna runs. Lexa lifts her insignia, and then freezes.

"I will tell the flamekeepers," Stiga says, "unless you let me go now. I will tell them what you did and what Luna did and you will die for it."

Lexa strikes, and those become his last words. She collects his insignia, and now holds almost half of them. Glancing up at the board, she finds out that three are left, not including her. Altan, Jiya, and Rivik.

I will become the commander, she thinks. It is my birthright to complete, and my cause to win.

There are somethings that Lexa will never forget. She will never forget Luna and her choices, she will never forget Titus' smile as she wins. She will never forget the Natblidas that she grew up with, her brothers and sisters in all but blood. She will never forget her first kills, her Conclave.

So, when Leksa kom Trikru ascends the steps to Polis an hour later, ten sigils heavy on her throat and soaked in black blood, she smiles.

Natblida has brought them pride.

Lexa, heda gon Congeda, seventeen years

Lexa, commander of the Coalition

The Coalition worked. Lexa smiles at Gustus, her advisor, and at Costia, her love. Costia is too delicate to be a warrior, but she is beautiful all the same. Luna taught her that, she did, that beauty comes from more than the fight.

Costia smells flowers and twirls in the moonlight. Lexa follows, laughing at her lover's antics.

She places a glowing flower in Costia's hair, who laughs. "You've made peace," she says after a while. "Your Coalition has stopped, war, Lexa, and you've never been so happy as you are now."

"Well," Lexa replies, watching a butterfly fly across the skies. "Not war and peace are very different things."

Costia's eyebrows furrow. "Are they?"

Lexa hums. "You must not have war to have peace, but you can have no war without peace, Costia."

"You're confusing," she says. Costia is an artist, a singer. One of the few that still exist over the near century since Praimfaya.

Lexa almost smiles. "I suppose I am."

"I love you for it," Costi offers.

"And I love you."

Lexa kom Trikru is happy then, but eleven moons later, she cries over the death of the girl she loves and vows not to love again.

Lexa, post mortem.

Lexa was not dead. She lived on in the flame. Although, she assumed from what ALIE and the spirit of the commander had told her, there would be no more commanders to take the flame.

Death was weird, floaty. This is what she had supposed living in space to be like, not the world after. She had learned that from Clarke, whose raised eyebrows and soft smile had told her stories of playing on a gravity track.

Clarke. Ah. The first that Lexa had given her heart to since Costia. She was beautiful in her words and thoughts, the way she everything that she did was planned twice over. She was very different than Costia, whose heart dictated everything that she did.

What was her legacy?

She didn't know.

Natblida had brought them pride.


End file.
